


Alfred Pennyworth/Victor Zsasz ficlet collection

by Limpet666



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, M/M, Violence, strangling of a background character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 15:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limpet666/pseuds/Limpet666
Summary: A collection of short ficlets and drabbles written to prompts. A variety of ratings and lengths.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "I really wish you’d told me your mother was in town.”

“I really wish you’d told me your mother was in town.” 

“He is  _not_  my mother,” Victor hummed into the chest he currently had his head rested on, fingers curling and uncurling in the covering of grey hair there.

“Could have bloody well fooled me,” Alfred spoke to the ceiling, hand absently running across the bare shoulders of the younger man curled up against his side under the covers.

Both of them were doing an excellent job of ignoring the pounding on the door of Zsasz’s apartment, and Oswald Cobblepot’s demanding voice shouting for the assassin in the corridor.

After a few minutes, in which the noise didn’t cease, Alfred finally asked.

“Are you going to answer?”

To which Zsasz lifted his head, looking at Alfred pointedly.

“Do you  _want_  me to answer it?” 

This… whatever they had, wasn’t exactly public knowledge. And Alfred definitely didn’t want that murderous little vulture having any leverage on them.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” he admitted, and Zsasz’s smirk and sudden wandering hand told him he’d just opened himself up to all sorts of blackmail.

Blackmail of the best, most pleasurable kind, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "If you’re going to keep running your mouth like that, I can think of a few ways to make you shut up.”

Finding out that Victor was a  _talker_  had been one of many surprises for Alfred.

(The first had been spending an energetic evening in bed with the young man, but the surprises hadn’t ceased there.)

“I like this place… it’s…  _cosy._ For a mansion. _”_

Thankfully Master Bruce was on a residential  with the Academy, and wasn’t there to witness Gotham’s most notorious hitman shirtless in his kitchen whilst Alfred made them breakfast.

“You’d never guess that a kid lived here,” Victor continued, wandering around and nosing in cupboards with a blatant disregard for politeness or propriety. “These are nice dishes.”

“You could just sit down,” Alfred tried, flipping the omelettes over and side eyeing the man. No such luck, and Victor continued like he hadn’t heard.

“Is this real crystal?” And before Alfred could answer there was a resonating thrum of nail hitting a glass, confirming that, yes, it was real. “Neat.” 

The glass was left on the side, and Alfred let out a large sigh, and Victor just kept talking and commenting and touching things.

“These curtains look kind of faded, are they supposed to look like that?”

“I could pick this lock in 3 seconds, you should update your security.”

“Why do you have so many knives, that’s asking trouble.”

“Look, mate,” Alfred finally turned the heat off, and moves the pan to a cool hob with a loud clatter, “If you’re going to keep running your mouth like that, I can think of a few ways to make you shut up.” 

It was supposed to be a threat, but as soon as the words left him he realised the double entendre. And Victor’s catty grin spoke volumes about how he had interpreted the words.

“You bloody minx, I didn’t–”

“This table looks super old,” Zsasz grinned, splaying both hands on the kitchen table that, he was right, was almost a century old.

“Do you recon it’s still sturdy?”

Despite his exasperation, Alfred knew he could be persuaded to test the theory.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You have no idea how wonderful it feels to finally have someone around who knows what the hell I’m talking about”

“That wouldn’t work, though,” Victor interjected as Alfred put another slice of toast of his plate, waving the one he already had in his hand at the older man.

“That’s what I said, but old Teddy wasn’t having none of it,” Alfred agreed, coming back to the breakfast bar and picking up his own toast.

“How long did it take you to find all the bits of him?” Victor grinned, eating his breakfast on autopilot. Alfred wouldn’t leave him alone until he’d eaten, and Victor had long given up arguing with his lover.

Alfred laughed, “I don’t think we ever found all of him.”

It was hardly normal breakfast talk, but since Bruce was away for the weekend, Alfred felt like he could indulge.

In many ways.

Including having Victor Zsasz stay for breakfast without worrying that the young Master would see. His relationship with the most wanted assassin in Gotham was not something he felt like trying to explain to anyone, let alone Bruce.

“You have no idea how wonderful it feels to finally have someone around who knows what the hell I’m talking about,” Alfred shook his head with an amused smile, resting his head on his hand and watching his young lover basically inhale the toast.

Victor shrugged, smiling as he chewed.

“I like your stories,” he replied once he had swallowed, “You’ve done some really messed up stuff for an old guy.”

Alfred’s scandalised noise was made all the more funny for Victor’s blank, uncomprehending expression that he had said anything wrong.

“You cheeky sod, I’m not that old!” Alfred defended, positively bristling and puffing up with wounded pride.

Realising an opportunity, Victor’s face split into a grin before he leaned well into Alfred’s personal space.

“Prove it.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “That was you, my friend, making me feel like a bloody idiot.” Only partially used.

Alfred couldn’t believe that Victor would turn on him.

His heart sunk to his stomach as he stared up the two men before him, his knees protesting against the hard stone floor beneath them. His shoulders ached from being pinned behind his back for so long, and his vision still swam from the none-too-gentle crack he’d received only a couple score minutes ago.

From the hand of his lover, no less. And now here he was, trying to school his expression before the dark, cold, calculating eyes that he had grown so attached to.

And his diminutive avian boss.

He’d not even seen Zsasz coming.

All he’d had eyes for was his errant young master, and Alfred had unwisely followed Bruce Wayne into one of The Penguin’s lesser known retreats.

He didn’t even know what Bruce’s mission had been that night. And now he supposed he never would.

Alfred could only hope Bruce was safe.

—

Firm hands slid around Alfred’s flanks and made a quick beeline to start undoing his shirt before he ungraciously pushed them away.

“None of that,” Alfred turned away from the sink, drying his hands and he frowned at the man before him. “I’m still angry with you, Sunshine,”

Victor looked perplexed and splayed his hands as he took a step back.

“For what?”

Alfred clenched his fists in the tea towel as he regarded the young man before him. He’d heard him sneak through the window of the kitchen (Victor always let him hear), and so hadn’t been surprised to feel his hands on him. But his lack of apology, or even acknowledgement, put Alfred’s hackles up.

“Oh I don’t know,” Alfred hissed instead of shouting like he wanted to, aware that Bruce was upstairs, “For knocking me half senseless? For putting a gun to my head? For putting me in front of that lunatic and making me think–” He cut himself off before he could admit to something that he couldn’t take back.

Victor’s expression was contemplative as he watched Alfred for many seconds, keeping his distance, before eventually he spoke slowly.

“Um…okay,” he started, “But…you know I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.” He stated it so plainly, like it should have been completely obvious to Alfred, and all Alfred could do was realise how stupid he’d been.

And feel ashamed that he hadn’t trusted Victor more.

“Yes…well,” Alfred felt the anger drain out of him, only to be replaced with embarrassment, “Now you put it like that…”

He trailed off, wringing the tea towel in his hands only to have them stopped by Victor’s pressing over them. Alfred lifted his gaze to see Zsasz wearing an entirely incorrigible smirk as he slowly made his way into his personal space.

“Now I put it like that?” Victor prompted, setting the cloth aside and finally resuming the task he’d tried to start to begin with.

“Well… now I feel like a bloody idiot,” Alfred laughed, hands settling on the assassin’s hips as his shirt was undone button-by-button.

“It’s okay,” Victor told him sympathetically, voice low as his hands worked the last button before sliding up over the older man’s chest.

“I’ll let you make it up to me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “What? I meant it as a compliment.”

Alfred groaned as Victor helped him off with his jacket, hand going up to his shoulder once it was free and gripping at the muscle like the pressure could alleviate the soreness.

A dislocated (and since relocated) shoulder was a small price to pay in the long run considering they had just survived a shoot-out from some of Gotham’s less than agreeable lowlifes. It was only a shame that none of them had survived to tell them exactly what their motives were.

A chance encounter earlier in the day had given Victor and Alfred an excuse for some back alley gropings, and an extended afternoon in a pay-by-the-hour motel. But once the fun was had they had intended to go their separate ways.

Until a shot had rung out and their would-be murderers were too late to recognise Victor Zsasz as their victim.

The first two were dead in seconds from Victor’s marksman accuracy, but then it was all close-quarters and Alfred lost track of his lover until it was all over.

A punch to the gut had knocked the wind out of him, and a kick to the hip sent Alfred careening into a dumpster, and the white hot pain in his shoulder coupled with the sudden numbness in his hand told him that something had dislocated.

After that it was all about survival at any cost, and it wasn’t long until Alfred had one of the last attackers on the floor, his one working hand about their throat. He bore down with all his weight, breaths laboured as the man struggled beneath him, and felt cartilage and muscle grind beneath his palm.

If he’d had both his hands he maybe wouldn’t have had to kill the man. But he had to survive. At any cost.

“I’ve never seen anyone strangle someone with one hand,” Victor comment quietly as he helped Alfred off with his shirt, brows lifted in interest. They were back at Wayne Manor now, Victor refusing to leave his side until he had seen Alfred was safe and settled.

“That was… pretty messed up.” Victor’s grin didn’t fade in the face of Alfred’s scathing look.

“What? I meant it as a complement.” Dexterous hands slid Alfred’s shirt off his shoulders, and Alfred tried not to wince.

“Well it wasn’t like I had a choice,” he spat, his stomach twisting just a little. As it should, he reminded himself. Despite the circumstances, he had taken a life, and that came with baggage. It would stay with him for a while, but less time than it used to.

“You could have let him kill you,” Victor said conversationally, stepping forward and putting his arms over Alfred’s shoulders, aware that the pressure would cause his shoulder discomfort. “That was a choice.”

Alfred snorted, resting his hands on Victor’s hips, slow fingers untucking the assassin’s shirt from his pants.

“That’s not a choice,” he argued, and Victor made a contemplative noise as he leaned in.

“Isn’t it?”

Not in the mood for some moral debate with Gotham’s most wanted assassin, Alfred pressed him into a hard kiss and turned them to back him towards the bed.

Maybe if he kept Victor suitably distracted he would forget that line of complements. 


End file.
